Sir Arlin commanded a regiment of light infantry in the Royal Army of Velitrium. At this moment he was crouching, along with two hundred men, in heavy brush on top of a low ridge about two hundred yards from the edge of a large force of Khun Dahgra raiders. The enemy seemed to be a mixed bag of human scum and goblins numbering perhaps a hundred and fifty altogether. They had been detected approaching the eastern edge of the valley three days ago. Tomorrow, or possibly tonight, they would break up into a half a dozen or so bands and spread out across the valley to loot and pillage the farms and villages of eastern Cruachan. To forestall this Sir Arlin had gathered as many of his soldiers as he conveniently could and marched to intercept the raiding party. Normally five hundred strong the regiment was presently split into three groups to cover a wider area. Sir Arlin had at his disposal a hundred and twenty of his regulars and had accordingly been forced to supplement his troops with Count Panthino's Housecarls. Since the regiment's regular mage was involved in another assignment and could not return for at least four more days, Arlin had reluctantly requested the loan of Girvan from the Avengers.

Glancing up at the sky Sir Arlin noted that it was close to noon. His troops had better be in position by then. He had selected noon as the time to commence the attack since many of the goblins would be asleep. Slightly below him crouched two of Panthino's Housecarls. One, a man in his late fifties or sixties seemed far too old to be crawling through the woods, much less for a battle. Arlin wondered why Panthino had sent the old fellow on such a dangerous mission. He carried a long bow and was dressed like a woodsman rather than a soldier. The man with him was more to Sir Arlin's liking. He was in his late twenties and wore a mail hauberk and pot helm. He was armed with a broadsword and spear and carried a round shield. They had been sitting silently, like Sir Arlin and Girvan. Their attention was focused on an enemy sentry about seventy five yards further down the slope. It was a goblin, or more correctly a Hobgoblin noted Arlin. These bigger cousins of the Mountain Goblins were comfortable with bright sunlight, unlike the more nocturnal mountain types. The beast wasn't much of a sentry thought Sir Arlin with contempt. It was seated with it's back to a tree facing in their direction, but it's attention was entirely focused on its own activities. Sir Arlin refused to think of goblins as any more than animals, dangerous and clever animals, but animals none the less. The goblin was carving a piece of wood or bone. Sir Arlin was too far away to see what it was the beast was making, but it was clearly intent on the task. Sir Arlin looked at the sky again, it was time.

Below him the armored Housecarl whispered to the older man, "I've got three silver that say you can't nail him in the left eye."

Arlin opened his mouth to admonish the man. He did not allow gambling or any kind of levity while on duty! He closed his mouth, reprimand unspoken, for two reasons. First these Housecarls were not under his authority despite being attached for this mission. Secondly the archer was already taking aim.

The old man had been sitting with an arrow knocked and ready, now he straightened up and drew. The bow was large and clearly had a heavy draw and Arlin was impressed at how easily the old man handled it. Pausing for a mere fraction of a second the old man released. As he did so he whistled. Sir Arlin watched in fascination as the goblin, hearing the whistle looked up just in time for the arrow to enter his left eye, pass through the back of his skull, through the leather helm it wore, and pin his head to the tree. It had all happened in a blink of time and without a sound, except for the muffled `thunk' of the goblin's head hitting the trunk. The old man's bow didn't even hum. And at a range of seventy five yards! It was an incredible demonstration of skill!

With an envious grunt the armored Housecarl passed some coins to the old archer. Sir Arlin shook his head in disbelief. Now he knew why Count Panthino had sent the old man along. He'd have to remember to wager on him if he competed in the archery contest at next month's fair.

Along the ridge other enemy sentries, located by Girvan's magic, were also dying. Not all of them as quietly as the first. As the last bow twanged the soldiers rose from their concealed positions and began a swift and silent advance down the slope. Sir Arlin had ordered silence until they were less than fifty yards out.

Sir Arlin and Girvan walked down the slope behind the advancing Housecarls. Behind Sir Arlin was a trooper with a trumpet. The Knight kept looking to the mage for updates on the enemy camp.

"So far all is well Sir." Girvan reported. "They have heard nothing.... They don't suspect."

Passing the dead hobgoblin Arlin glanced down and paused to pick up the carving. It was of bone and appeared to be some kind of anthropomorphic fetish with horns. With a grunt of distaste the Knight tossed it aside and continued on. The dumb beast hadn't even known what had killed it.

They were about sixty yards out now. Sir Arlin could just make out the rough lean-tos that served the enemy as shelters. Girvan spoke up. "They've seen us. They're starting to panic."

"All right," Snapped Sir Arlin. "This is it. Soldier, sound the attack."

The young soldier, no more than fifteen, raised the trumpet and blew a triple blast. From Arlin's troops there came a cheer and they charged at a run into the clearing. This would be the signal for the second line of troops, on the other side of the clearing, to advance and complete the envelopment. If things went as planned, and Sir Arlin was experienced enough to know that things rarely do, the enemy would be completely surrounded.

As Arlin entered the clearing he saw that most of the enemy were completely unprepared for the attack. Many were desperately buckling on armor, grabbing weapons and shields. The mountain goblins were crawling, blinking, from the darkness of their lean-tos, confused by the bright light as well as the attack. About two dozen of the enemy humans had advanced in a rough line to meet the attack. Judging by their equipped status they had been getting ready to depart the encampment when the soldiers attacked.

The clash of steel filled the air, along with screams of pain and shouts of battle. Sir Arlin drew his own sword and hefted his shield. A man charged at him, his leather hauberk only half buckled, an axe in his right hand a long knife in his left. Screaming a battle cry the bandit hacked at the knight who caught the axe on his shield. The bandit stabbed upwards with the knife, thinking to take the knight in the groin. Sir Arlin was too experienced to fall for such an obvious trick and as he twisted safely aside, his own blade flashed and the stump of the brigand's left wrist fountained blood. The man's scream was cut short as Sir Arlin passed ten inches of steel through his lungs before moving on.

Looking to his left Arlin saw the mage attacked by a hulking hobgoblin. Nimbly sidestepping the beast's scimitar, Girvan lightly tapped the creature with a length of wood some three feet long. Without uttering a sound the hobgoblin collapsed dead. To Sir Arlin's right the old archer was standing, bow in hand, calmly and methodically shooting down one target after another. His speed and deftness was absolutely breathtaking. In a space of seconds the old man had selected an arrow from his quiver, knocked it, drew and released and selected another. Each arrow found it's mark and each arrow proved instantly fatal for it's target.

Sir Arlin paused to survey the field of battle. He was pleased with the course of events. His second line had arrived as scheduled. The Khun Dahgra brigands were contained in the center of the field, surrounded by his force and well on the road to defeat. Sir Arlin estimated that the fight would soon end, some of the enemy had already begun throwing down their weapons. It was at this point that disaster reared its ugly head.

From the roiling mass of men and steel an armored wedge of men burst outwards, shattering a section of Sir Arlin's line. Cursing sulfurously the knight rushed forward to help contain the breakthrough. Twenty or so of the better disciplined raiders had mounted a coordinated counter attack. Since this was done with the limited goal of a breakout it was successful. Any more ambitious a plan was doomed to fail, the odds were stacked too heavily against the brigands.

With the containment broken the entire force of raiders surged towards freedom. Sir Arlin and half a dozen men at arms rushed to block the escape. It was an almost suicidal gesture, the brigands now had overwhelming superiority at that point, but the knight didn't even hesitate. Just as the knight and his few brave companions were set to close the first of the arrows swooshed past and took a fierce looking armored brigand in the throat. A second arrow slew another, a third yet another and a fourth and a fifth, a sixth and a seventh. Such was the intensity of the arrow storm that Arlin knew without looking back that three or four of his archers had managed to get into position to slow the breakout. Even as Sir Arlin and the men at arms clashed with the lead elements of the brigands blunted wedge the arrows continued to come. Again and again they skewered the fighters facing the defenders, until, with the aid of troops thrusting in from either side to pinch off the brigands impropmtu salient, the breakout itself was halted and confined. At this point the Khun Dahgra warriors began throwing down their weapons in earnest.

Satisfied that the fight was indeed over Sir Arlin turned to thank the men who had charged into the fray at his side. Looking past them for the archers who's assistance had proved invaluable he saw only the old archer standing alone with a now empty quiver. Looking about him the knight espied the Housecarl who had lost the silver to the archer. He had been one of those who had followed Sir Arlin in his charge. Reaching out he stopped the man, "You, what is your name my man?"

The Housecarl bobbed his head in respect, "I am Waldren of Allvey, my lord."

The knight nodded, "You fought well today Waldren of Allvey. My compliments and know that I shall speak to your Lord of your courage."

"Thank you My Lord."

"Tell me Waldren, what is the name of that old archer over yon? He who shoots like a fiend."

Waldren smiled briefly, "His name is Rhyokim of Durleen, my lord. He is called `Ten Slayer' by some. On account that at the battle of Harts Ford he slew ten Khun Dahgra warriors with ten arrows."

"Well he surpassed himself today." Said the knight. "If it were not for his shooting most of these bastards would have broken out and we'd have had merry hell hunting them down."

Sir Arlin walked over to the old man who was sorting through a pile of captured arrows that he had found in one of the shelters. Seeing the knight he quickly stood up and bowed slightly. "My lord."

Arlin nodded in return, "Rhyokim of Durleen, I salute you." So saying the knight raised his bloodstained sword and saluted the old man. "Your archery not only prevented the escape of dozens of these scum, and consequently saved the lives of countless villagers. But you saved my life and the lives of six good men. I thank you and your King thanks you."

The old archer looked embarrassed. There were an even dozen of his fellow Housecarls and as many soldiers standing around grinning at him. "Th... thank you my lord." He stuttered. "I just did my best."

"Your best was damn good. I shall speak to Count Panthino concerning an appropriate reward. Well done." Turning to those of his troops and Housecarls that were watching he called in his best parade ground voice, "Well done all of you! That was a damn fine piece of work. Well done!"

The men cheered and stood around slapping themselves on the back and grinning with pleasure. Sir Arlin allowed them a little time to bask in their glory then nodded to one of his senior Sergeant at Arms. That burly individual cleared his throat, a sound that was heard all the way across the clearing, "Alllll riiight!" He thundered. "LETS GET BACK TO WORK!"

The men scattered to round up prisoners, gather weapons, armor and other booty. Some tended the wounded, their own first, then the enemy. Others began laying out the prison chains. These were thirty two foot long chains to which a manacle on a two foot length of chain was attached every four feet. There were nine manacles on each side so a total of eighteen prisoners could be put on each chain. Sir Arlin had brought ten chains, more than he would need considering the enemies casualties.

Sir Corlett came up with the casualty list. The young knight, barely twenty, was Arlin's lieutenant.

"My lord." He saluted and waited for his commander to acknowledge him.

Arlin was cleaning his blade with a brigand's ratty cloak. "Yes Lieutenant?"

The young knight bowed and said, "I have the casualty figures and a summary of the prisoners."

"Go ahead."

"We have eleven dead and twenty three wounded. Six seriously, the rest are walking wounded. We have slain eighty five of the enemy and captured seventy two. Of these thirty eight are wounded, nine seriously. Father Clemense says they will all make it."

Not bad, thought Arlin. Not bad at all. If nothing else it would be a profitable engagement. The Crown paid forty silver farthings for every Khun Dahgra prisoner. This was recouped by the government when they sold the prisoners to the licensed slave dealers in the various Duchies. If all the prisoners made it back to the fort they would bring over twenty eight hundred farthings. Of course Sir Arlin didn't get all that. According to army custom the total was divided thus. Twenty percent to the commanding officer. Forty percent was divided equally amongst all the other officers present. Twenty percent was split amongst the Sergeants, and the balance was divided amongst the men. The captured booty, weapons armor, etc, became the property of the Crown. By custom the army would tally the value of this take and contribute ten percent to the troops. Sometimes a generous commander would, after a particularly successful action, increase that percentage by a few points from his own share.

Sergeant Dunnel hurried up and saluted, "My lord, Sir Rolin's compliments, sir. There is something you should see."

Arlin nodded, tucked the casualty figures into his pouch and followed the sergeant across the littered field. Glancing to his right he watched as his soldiers stripped the prisoners naked before locking them in the manacles. Naked and barefoot they were much less likely to cause any trouble on the march. It also ensured that there were no concealed weapons or hidden valuables, either of which could be employed in an escape attempt.

A group of soldiers were standing around looking at a body. As he approached Sir Arlin saw that the man was wearing half plate, expensive armor for a brigand. His clothing was of upper-class cut and clearly expensive, he was young, perhaps in his mid to late twenties. Sir Rolin, another of Arlin's lieutenants, was kneeling beside the dead man. Looking up at his commander he extended his hand, in it was a heavy silver signet ring. Arlin took it.

"He was wearing that my lord."

Arlin studied the coat of arms. He didn't recognize it immediately. Closing his eyes he cast his thoughts back to his childhood heraldry lessons some twenty five years or more gone by. He remembered his tutor, Sir Molton, talking about the renegade houses of Gemmatus, those that had sided with Duke Mulgrave during the Rebellion. This was one of those. He stared hard at the crest, a gryphon arrant, surrounded by a flaming sun. It was Mulgraves crest! The arms were quartered so that made the dead man a scion of Mulgrave's house! Arlin concealed his shock. This was news for his superiors only. Turning to the men who were gaping at the dead noble he said, "Sergeant."

Dunnel straightened. "Yes sir, right away. All right you sods, back to work!" This last to the soldiers not the knight.

Looking down at Sir Rolin, Arlin said, "I want this man brought back with us. I want his armor, clothing, weapons and anything you find that looks like it may belong to him. And don't comment or speculate on this to anyone. Is that clear?"

"Yes my lord."

"Get a burial detail organized for our boys. Check with Father Clemense and see how soon the wounded can be moved. I want to be underway in an hour."

"Yes my lord."

Arlin pocketed the ring and walked away to think. If this was indeed a kin of Mulgrave's house, his death could trigger some major reprisals. Word must get back to King Urien and the High Command as quickly as possible. Things just might get interesting in the very near future.